


Baby, you could be the death of me

by SinpaiCasanova (Bladerunnerblue)



Series: Our love lies in shadows on the moon [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: A twist M. Night Shyamalan would be proud of, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Based on a Twitter Post, Breeding, Forest Sex, Full Shift Werewolves, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bond, Mating Moon, Mating Rituals, Modern Bucky Barnes, Not Canon Compliant, Porn With Plot, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Rimming, Rough Sex, Supernatural Elements, Walks In The Woods, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bladerunnerblue/pseuds/SinpaiCasanova
Summary: It’s strange for him to consider that fate or the universe–whatever is driving this compulsion, really–needs Bucky here for some reason or another, but he’s passed by these woods at least a thousand times before on his way into town, and each time his eyes drifted toward the trees, his heart would give a restless tug against his ribs like an excited dog on a leash. Eventually, the call became too much for him to ignore, and so here he is, surrendering himself to the woods and praying like hell that he doesn’t end up in the belly of a beast by daylight.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Our love lies in shadows on the moon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735879
Comments: 126
Kudos: 520





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buckwildblu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckwildblu/gifts).



Bucky never expected he'd be in a situation quite like this; hopelessly lost, aimlessly wandering about the woods in the dark with nothing to light his way but the dim stars overhead and the shitty flashlight on his rapidly dying cellphone he should have fully charged before he'd left the house. But then again, he didn’t exactly intend for his little impromptu walk in the woods to suddenly become this live-action remake of Survivor.

When Bucky left his home that afternoon with nothing but the clothes on his back and the phone in his pocket, the sun was high enough in the sky that the thought of something going awry–like losing his sense of direction and becoming stranded in an endless maze of evergreens–hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

Looking back now though, it probably should’ve.

The woods which now hold him captive have grown eerie and still with the setting of the sun, and the rising hunter's moon engulfing the dusky, mid-September sky in fiery shades of red and orange only allows him to faintly see the outline of the thick trees before him, and the overgrown foliage covering the ground below his feet.

It does little to help guide Bucky back to the safety of the road, or keep him from roaming around in circles, really, thinking he'd covered new ground only to, frustratingly, find himself right back at the place he'd just been.

He can't even see the jogging path anymore, having long since abandoned it to freely walk among the trees, just as the signs at the mouth of the woods explicitly say he's not supposed to, for this exact reason, no doubt. And It's stupid, he knows, to leave the safety of the trail when he can't navigate worth a damn without a GPS, and the fact that he knows there have been confirmed wolf sightings in this area in the past doesn't help one bit to ease the anxiety that's bubbling under his skin like a pot of hot oil fit to boil over.

If Bucky doesn't find his way back soon, then he'll have no choice but to hunker down here for the night, which is less than ideal when the majority of the wildlife out here is nocturnal and looking for an easy meal. 

Truth be told, he’s not even sure why he chose to venture out into this particular wooded area in the first place, especially when the danger outweighs the benefits such a place would provide. But it was almost as if the trees were calling out to him, beckoning him to his doom like a Siren’s song carried out on a cool breeze. 

It’s strange for him to consider that fate or the universe–whatever is driving this compulsion, really–needs Bucky here for some reason or another, but he’s passed by these woods at least a thousand times before on his way into town, and each time his eyes drifted toward the trees, his heart would give a restless tug against his ribs like an excited dog on a leash. Eventually, the call became too much for him to ignore, and so here he is, surrendering himself to the woods and praying like hell that he doesn’t end up in the belly of a beast by daylight.

Though, despite all the danger, he can’t deny that the trees out here are gorgeous, bursting with growth and bright autumn colors that really catch the eye. But it’s beauty notably shifts from bright and lively to a more gothic, haunted sort of inflection once daylight gives way to the ghostly glow of the moon.

The way in which the woods changes at night is staggering. It’s as if he's stepped foot into a completely different world, now, where death lurks around every corner and the inviting warmth that initially drew him in is snuffed out by the unnatural cold that’s settled over this place like a thick cloud of smoke.

Bucky shivers as the wind wraps around him, and he tugs at the collar of his flannel with numb, trembling hands, trying, and failing at that, to shield the back of his neck from the cold. Having long, thick hair helps a bit with that, but it’s also safe to say that he wasn’t expecting the temperature to drop like this when he’d set out to scratch this metaphorical itch. In fact, it had been unusually warm that afternoon, so the long-sleeved flannel and jeans that almost gave him heatstroke earlier are now woefully inadequate at shielding him from the frigid temperatures he’s currently facing.

He’s been wandering around for hours now, and it’s getting to the point where his feet will hardly move of their own accord; vehemently rebelling against his need to keep moving. So he finds a spot to rest for a moment, leaning his back against the rough bark of the largest oak he’s ever seen. And it’s then, when his eyes are closed and his breathing has steadied, that a loud, snarling howl rips its way through the trees like a particularly violent crack of thunder.

Bucky’s body jolts back to life in an instant; heart pounding in his ears and chest tight with dread. 

A shadow whips by his head as quickly as a strike of lighting, carrying with it the message that he’s not exactly as alone as he thought he was. And it’s terrifying to think that there’s something possibly hunting him out here in the woods, where no one would even think to come and look for him if he went missing, but there was also something undeniably _off_ about that howl that Bucky can’t quite put his finger on. Yet, in the back of his mind, he knows it’s not a wolf that’s out here with him. At least, not any wolf he’s ever come across before.

This is something bigger. Much bigger. And if the hair standing on end on the back of his neck, and the pinprick feeling of eyes on his back is telling him anything, it’s also watching him, whatever it is. Stalking him in the dark of the woods with a sharp gaze that tracks his every move.

If Bucky thought he was scared before, then he’s absolutely terrified now. 

“Oh, shit,” Bucky whispers to himself, slowly exhaling in an attempt to keep himself calm when the situation makes him feel anything but. He swallows around the lump in his throat, glancing around warily as he backs away from the tree he was just resting against.

He’s in a clearing of some sort, he thinks. Though, since the sun dipped below the horizon, he can’t make out much of anything that’s not directly in front of him anymore. 

Bucky’s spine abruptly goes ramrod stiff as a cool breeze kicks up the fallen leaves at his feet. But that’s not what has him so spooked all of a sudden. There’s a deep, rumbling growl emanating from the darkened space in front of him. The sound slowly shifts to his left, moving behind him for a beat, then finally to the right, where it repeats; circling him in the dark. 

_“Fuck,”_ Bucky quietly swears, quickly coming to the realization that he’s about to get mauled to death by some unidentified beast he can’t even see. But as the panic sets in–hitting the pit of his stomach like a white-hot brick–he still tries, in vain, to keep a level head about him, recalling those ridiculous breathing exercises his therapist showed him. Though suddenly, they’re not so pointless and stupid, and Bucky’s sure that Dr. Fletcher would be proud that he’s actually heeding her advice for once, rather than doing what he usually does, which is pretend that the problem doesn’t exist in the hopes that it’ll magically disappear.

Realistically, Bucky doesn’t think willful ignorance or a hopeful wish upon a star will save him in this scenario. So, he’s left with no other choice, really.

He sighs, warm, shallow breath fogging up the space before him, “Okay. Don’t freak out. Deep breaths, in and out-”

But he can’t even get through one deep breath before it all goes to shit. A twig sharply snaps behind him, and the air that Bucky had just sucked into his lungs is forcefully expelled in the shape of a scream the second he feels a pair of very human hands grab him by the shoulders.

Between the space of a breath, he finds himself lying face down in the dirt, pinned there by the incredibly warm and shockingly heavy weight of an unfamiliar body.

“Don’t move,” The raspy, almost guttural voice is whispering into his ear, and Bucky can’t help the shiver it elicits when he feels the rough scratch of an unkempt beard press against the side of his neck. “Stay down.”

It’s a warning, Bucky knows, but he also can’t stop himself from trying to break free; kicking out and fighting with everything he has to try and throw this man off of him. It does absolutely nothing to break the man’s hold on him, which is terrifying in and of itself because Bucky’s not exactly a tiny guy, but it’s the way the man reacts to it that truly makes Bucky’s blood run cold.

 _“Be still, Omega!”_ the man barks from between clenched teeth, and Bucky freezes at the unmistakable touch of a hand squeezing the flesh at the back of his neck. Sharp nails bite into his skin and pull, scruffing him the same way he’s seen animals do to ornery pups that misbehave. 

Against his better judgment, and for reasons he doesn’t yet understand, Bucky’s body goes as limp as a wet rag under him, and the man lets out a satisfied rumble that Bucky can feel in the very marrow of his bones. And it feels good. Soothing in a way he can’t explain.

“He’s watching,” The man whispers against the shell of his ear, and Bucky stiffens, gritting his teeth.

“Who?” Bucky grits out, anger mixing with fear in the bubbling cauldron that is his stomach, “I don’t see-”

 _“Quiet!”_ He hisses lowly, “Not another sound, Omega,”

Omega? It’s the second time this stranger's called him that, but Bucky can’t say for certain why he’s doing it, or what he even means by it, for that matter. 

Though before Bucky even has a chance to open his mouth and ask, the man is moving, pushing Bucky back down into the dirt as he dashes forward with the incredible speed and might of something that’s not entirely human. In his shock, Bucky has just enough wherewithal to look up as soon as the man’s weight is off his back, and it’s then that he sees what the man was talking about. 

On the edge of the clearing, slowly emerging from the treeline, is a large, black wolf. And as the full moon rises up in the sky a little higher, Bucky can see its jaws are open in a snarl; thick, blood-tinged saliva dripping from razor-sharp teeth.

Bucky’s blood runs cold, because it’s not an ordinary wolf. 

Its body is more humanoid than it should be; big and intimidating, raised up on its hind legs, standing close to 8 feet tall, if Bucky had to guess. What should be paws have twisted into malformed hands, and its claws are long and curved; like the talons of a hawk. The only parts of this creature that even resemble a wolf are its head and tail, but even those are misshapen in ways he can’t articulate.

Bucky knows what this creature is, has heard stories about them from the time he was a boy, but he doesn’t dare say the word out loud. He can’t, because werewolves just don’t exist.

Or, so he once thought.

The man that had pinned Bucky to the ground is now standing directly in front of him, his nude body poised as if he were guarding Bucky; protecting him from this monster that’s eyeing him in a way that makes Bucky’s chest feel tight.

“Brock,” The man barks, all power and authority, “Back off.”

The creature–Brock–lets out an ungodly sound at that; an angry snarl that sinks down into the deepest parts of Bucky’s hindbrain. He doesn’t move as the creature stalks forward, even though every fiber of his being wants to hightail it the fuck out of here. But he stays put, keeping his wary gaze locked on the hulking frame before him.

“This is your final warning,” Says the man, and Bucky can see that he’s shaking a little. Though, he doubts it’s from the cold, “Stay back. This one’s _mine!”_

Brock launches forward in an instant; roaring like a lion as he moves to attack. But the man doesn’t back down. He snarls, curling in on himself as the bones of his ribs and spine visibly break and reform. His skin splits, revealing a coat of golden fur underneath all that tan, dirt-streaked flesh, and as his bearded jaw elongates into the beginnings of a snout, Bucky can no longer deny that he’s suddenly living in a horror story.

One he's repressed for quite some time.

The transformation only takes about a second; the wolf within violently bursting out of its human-shaped chrysalis. And Bucky gulps as he takes in the terrifying sight of two werewolves viciously tearing into each other like rabid animals.

Bucky takes the opportunity to scoot himself back and away from the fight, hiding behind the closest tree he can find. And even though his heart is racing and he's trembling from fear, he still can’t tear his eyes away from the fray. 

It’s all brute force and deadly intent, each attacking the other with teeth and claws, drawing blood and ripping fur from flesh in ragged gashes and gnarled bites. And while it’s clear that the black wolf is strong, it’s also undeniable that the golden wolf is stronger.

Brock is pinned on his back a moment later, writhing on the ground with blood-soaked fur and sharp teeth clamped around his throat; daring him to try and escape. But he goes limp abruptly, begrudgingly surrendering to the Alpha male that bested him in combat with a low growl.

The golden wolf releases him with an irritated huff, and Brock scurries away with a damaged body and a wounded pride to boot, though, Bucky doesn’t think this was the first time a quarrel between these two has played out this way. Nor would it be the last.

“Omega?” The man calls out, gently, and Bucky is stunned to see that he’d shifted back into human form just as quickly as he changed before. 

He’s standing in the middle of the clearing, panting and bloody; scratches, bites, and scrapes littering the expanse of his scarred, muscled body. His hair is a dirty mess of neck-length blond that looks as if it hasn’t had a good wash in months, and his beard is really no different, as is the rest of him. But Bucky can’t help but think that he’s handsome, rugged and worn down, yes, but handsome nonetheless.

The man’s skin is caked with dried dirt, mucking up the bushy, coarse curls that cover his broad chest and defined abs, as well as the pubic hair at the base of his uncut cock. And though he’s as naked as the day he came into this world, the man shows absolutely no concern for it. 

“Omega?” He calls out again, this time with a bit more force behind it. “It’s safe. You can come out. I mean you no harm.”

 _"Yeah, right,_ ” Bucky thinks to himself. But against his better judgment, Bucky pokes his head out from behind the trunk of the tree, and his eyes soon lock with an ocean-blue gaze that reaches right into Bucky’s chest to strangle his heart.

“Are you alright?” The man asks, catching Bucky off guard as he slides out from behind the safety of the tree and into the open. 

After a moment, Bucky nods, not exactly trusting his voice not to break. The man smiles warmly, striding forth with all the grace and confidence of a panther.

Bucky holds still, allowing the man to appraise him once he’s close enough to do so.

He gives Bucky a long, slow once-over, and the man appears to like what he sees because that strange, satisfied purring is back, and Bucky, oddly enough, wants to do nothing more than press his ear to that hairy chest and listen to the thunderous rumble that makes him want to sigh.

What the hell is even going on here? And who the fuck is this man? Hell if Bucky knows at all. He’s just along for the ride, at this point.

“I’m Steve,” The man introduces, holding out his big, bear paw of a hand for Bucky to take. 

“Bucky,” He breathes almost numbly, taking Steve’s proffered hand to shake in greeting. But Steve doesn’t do anything of the sort. He bears his teeth in a grin, reverently rolling around Bucky’s name in his mouth like it’s a prayer. Which is odd, really, but everything about this man is odd.

“Come,” Steve happily chirps, and before Bucky even has time to protest, Steve is dragging him out of the clearing by the hand and back into the woods; their destination unknown to him entirely.

“Hey, wait!” Bucky squeaks indignantly, twisting his wrist to try and break the iron grip Steve has him in. It does nothing, of course. Bucky should have known. His skin on Bucky's is hot like a brand, too, and experiencing it is the strangest mix of pleasure and pain, both comforting and concerning in equal parts. 

“Where are you taking me?!”

Steve stops for a moment, glancing back to take in Bucky’s bewildered expression. He smiles, then, giving Bucky’s hand a light squeeze before carrying on his way through the trees.

“Home,” Is what he says, contentment in his voice, “I’ve been waiting for such a long time, Bucky. My sweet Omega. My _mate.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to brucespringsteen for beta reading this for me❤❤ you're the best!

They walk hand in hand, weaving through the thick line of trees that appear to stretch on forever. The nightscape around them has barely changed at all, though, the hunter’s moon is a bit higher up in the sky now, shining its bright, fiery light upon the forest below. It’s still just as dark and quiet as it was when Steve first took him by the hand and led him from the clearing, but it’s undeniable that  _ something _ drastic has changed, even if Bucky’s not entirely sure what it is just yet.

Surprisingly, they don’t talk much on the journey to this place that Steve calls home, and even when they do, it’s mostly one-sided; Bucky launching a string of questions at Steve’s back and Steve answering with short responses that only leave more questions in their wake.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asks once more a few moments into their trek through the woods. Of course, he knows what Steve was going to say, but his ambiguous response and the single-minded focus he seems to have on getting them there as quick as humanly (or in Steve’s case, inhumanly) possible isn’t doing much to ease Bucky’s frayed nerves.

“Home,” Steve answers, same as before. And although he appears to be mostly unperturbed by Bucky’s interrogation, there’s a palpable air of urgency laced into that one-worded answer, as if the sand in their hourglass is about to run out.

Run out on what, however, Bucky isn’t too sure he wants to know. Not after everything he’s seen so far.

“What are you?” Is his next question, not even giving Steve a second to answer before he follows with “are you going to kill me?”

That, at least, gets a stronger reaction out of the man that Bucky now understands is the pinnacle of the strong, silent type. He stops dead in his tracks, turning slowly to face Bucky– whom so far has been trailing behind Steve like a wayward puppy on a leash, tugging against its hold every now and again, but never making any headway on his path to freedom.

“You’re my mate, Bucky,” Steve says, his voice low but vehement. The hand that isn't keeping Bucky tethered to him is outstretched, trailing warm, callused fingertips along the cut of Bucky's jaw. It sends a shiver of something he can’t quite name down his spine, but it isn’t panic or disgust, as it should be. It feels...good, being touched so gently, to be claimed like this by a man who is easily twice his size. 

“I would rather die than see you harmed.”

And Bucky knows right then and there that Steve means every word of that. He may not understand what’s going on right now, but he knows right down to the marrow of his bones that Steve would give his life for Bucky without an ounce of hesitation. Bucky is safe with Steve, even though he barely knows him.

Even still, he’s rightfully wary about what Steve plans to do with him once he gets him home, even if it feels unequivocally right to have the incredible warmth of Steve’s skin pressed against his own. It makes him want to sigh with relief, bare his throat to Steve and just let him  _ take _ anything he wants from Bucky. He wants to let Steve sink those sharp teeth into the willing flesh of his neck as his body opens up for Steve's, to join themselves together in heated passion and truly be the mate that Steve believes him to be.

The thought comes to him completely unbidden, almost entirely instinctual in nature, and quite frankly, it’s alarming that the urge to submit himself before Steve is so strong, considering the circumstances he’s found himself in. So instead of leaning into Steve’s gentle touch as he yearns to do, maybe even sink to his knees before this mountain of a man to please him, Bucky gives him a short nod to say that he understands; that he believes the earnest line of devotion Steve’s laying out for Bucky. His  _ mate,  _ in Steve’s mind _. _

Steve’s hand lingers on Bucky’s skin for a moment longer, cupping his smooth jaw as one would a lover they were drawing in for a kiss. Bucky can see the need in Steve’s eyes, mirrored from Bucky’s own murky blues, no doubt, but Steve doesn’t make a move to swoop down and claim Bucky’s mouth. He merely peers into Bucky’s eyes, searching, waiting for something to emerge from the depths of Bucky’s soul; pulled forth to the surface from Steve’s touch alone.

Those eyes are so hauntingly familiar to him, even though he swears he’s never seen them before. It’s like looking at an old photograph, knowing that there’s some connection to him in it, but unable to recall how or why.

All he really knows is that Steve’s touch feels like home. He smells like a memory–earthy and a little sweet, like the sun-kissed leaves that fall in Autumn–probably tastes like a dream too quick to fade from his mind. 

Bucky was meant to be here, meant to find this man for one reason or another, and Bucky, against his better judgment, doesn’t want to fight it anymore.

He goes willingly when Steve pulls him along again, moving quickly through the trees. The moment between them is broken all too soon by a sound only Steve can pick up, but the longer Bucky lingers among the trees of this old forest, he notices that his senses are beginning to sharpen. 

His sight is clearer, more adept to take in the nightscape around him. It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced before, as if the forest is making him stronger.

“Stay close to me, Omega,” Steve commands, a hint of fear in his voice that makes Bucky’s muscles tense up. “I won’t lose you again.”

This time, it’s Bucky who’s frozen by what Steve’s just said. He slows a bit, staring wide-eyed at the back of Steve’s head as the implication sinks into his bones.

“What do you mean by that?” Bucky asks, and for the life of him, he can’t keep himself calm over this, though he’s certainly trying. Steve doesn’t answer, just tugs him along faster, nearly breaking into a sprint at the pace he’s now having them walk. Bucky pulls against his hold, trying to get Steve to stop and just  _ look _ at him for a second.

“Steve, wait.  _ Stop!” _ He barks a little too frantically, and Steve does, but as he turns to face Bucky again, he drops his hand completely. Bucky immediately mourns the loss of contact, reaching out for Steve without even thinking about it.

He takes a slow breath in, exhaling through his nose as he takes Steve by the hand. Now isn’t the time for hysterics. He needs answers, and whatever Steve is going to tell him needs to be met with a certain air of rationality. He doesn’t exactly think it’s anything he’s expecting to hear, but regardless, Bucky wants to know the truth.

His entire life has been shrouded in mystery. He never knew his family, never felt any real connection to the people he was raised with; bouncing from foster home to foster home. He’s been told his parents died when he was a baby, but until now, he’s had no reason to challenge it.

Though, something about Steve’s demeanor tells him that his life is about to be flipped upside down.

“We knew each other once, didn’t we?” Bucky offers, because it seems like the most obvious conclusion, based on what his gut has been telling him and the things Steve’s saying. 

“Yes, we did,” Steve murmurs, and there’s a sadness in his eyes that Bucky can’t stand to see; more akin to grief than anything else. “We were just pups when they took you, but I always held out hope that you’d come back home on your own. Even if you didn’t remember me or any of the others, I never forgot about you, Bucky.”

Just as he thought, Bucky’s world is flipped off its axis with just a single sentence. 

He struggles to breathe around the tightening in his chest, the bile slithering up his throat. Steve said he was  _ taken _ . Fucking  _ stolen _ like a prize from everything and everyone he ever knew, and for what? What purpose did it serve? Why was he singled out among the rest?

“Why?” Is the only word he can utter at the moment, far too caught up the existential crisis he’s just been thrown into. “W-why!?”

“We don’t know,” Steve answers, “You weren’t the only one taken that night, or lost to the fight to take back what was stolen. Our pack was nearly decimated when they came, sweeping through the forest like fire; destroying everything in their path.”

“Who?” Bucky chokes out, “Why would they do that? Who would fucking do that?!”

Steve’s voice cracks around the confession, those three words nothing more than a whisper that conveys his guilt. 

“We don’t know.”

Bucky attempts to pull himself back together, once again using those breathing exercises Dr. Fletcher showed him. He calms slightly, but he can’t shake the thought that his entire life has been a lie, and the worst part of it is, he doesn't even know why he was chosen for this, or who the perpetrators even are.

He’s vaguely aware that he’s crying, clutching Steve’s hand tightly as he shakes. Steve pulls Bucky into his arms and holds him, and something within him sighs when Steve’s chest rumbles once again with that strange purring. Even his scent seems to change, shifting to a more soothing aroma that reminds Bucky of fresh firewood.

Steve buries his nose into Bucky’s hair, inhaling deeply as he moves down the side of Bucky’s face; stopping once Steve is tucked into the crook of his neck.

“We were once promised to each other,” Steve murmurs, nosing at the skin of Bucky’s neck gently. Bucky tips his head back a little to give him more room, allowing Steve to scent him. “You were my mate from the moment you came into this world, and I was yours. I don’t know what they did to you that made you forget, but our souls were made for each other, Bucky. You are and will always be mine, and I will forever be yours, if you want me.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything at first, just lets Steve’s devotion cover him like a soothing balm. He doesn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle yet, and even worse, he still has more questions that need to be answered before he makes such a huge decision. Although, it appears that destiny has already made that choice for the both of them long ago.

He may not remember Steve, or this other life that was stripped away from him, but this is where he belongs, and it’s about time that Bucky finally came home.

“Take me home, Steve,” Bucky whispers. It’s not an answer outright, but it’s good enough for Steve, apparently. 

His face breaks out into a soft smile, and it’s a beautiful thing to see in any right. Steve nuzzles the tip of his nose against Bucky’s, and he sighs with such contentment that Bucky can’t help but mirror it himself. His body relaxes when they part, and this time, they walk onward hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder. 

Time passes slowly, and every now and again, Bucky will pick up on the little sounds of life that echo among the forest; the howl of a wolf, an owl hooting in the distance, cicadas and frogs sending a chorus of music up to the moon herself. There are surely others that live here, others like Steve and Brock, maybe even Bucky if he believes what Steve is trying to tell him.

Eventually, they came to a stop in another clearing–this one bigger than the last, with a lake and a few wooden lodges scattered throughout the space. The homes are nothing fancy, mostly functional for the purpose of shelter and nothing more. They're rustic, made from the trees in this very forest, no doubt, and right now, they're empty and dark; not a trace of life within them.

There’s a large fire pit in the center of the villa, still smoldering with cuts of meat and fish slowly roasting on spits above the dying flames. It almost looks abandoned, like those who were once gathered around it left in a rush with no concern for anything else but their safety.

It’s alarming, honestly, but Steve doesn’t allow Bucky to travel down that particular road for long. As if he’s reading Bucky's mind, Steve follows his line of sight and gives his hand a light squeeze of reassurance; smiling warmly at him from behind that thick beard of his. 

“The others will be gone until morning,” He says, seemingly unconcerned with their absence, “The full moon doesn’t dictate when we shift, but we answer its call all the same. This is a time for mating, Bucky, which is why I wanted to keep you close to me. It’s far too dangerous for you to be out there all alone, when lycans such as Brock are out on the prowl, looking for a pretty little Omega to claim for themselves.”

Bucky feels the shift in the space between them more than he sees it, but suddenly, it all makes perfect sense to him. Steve’s protectiveness, his  _ possessiveness _ over Bucky when Brock was practically salivating over him. The need in Steve’s eyes, his own desire to submit himself before this man–this  _ Alpha.  _

Clarity hits him all at once, and a new-found sense of passion ignites within his chest; powerful and explosive in a way that Steve can clearly palpate, if his rapidly dilating pupils and flaring nostrils have any bearing at all. 

Steve desperately wants to mate with Bucky, but for reasons unknown, he’s holding himself back. Perhaps it’s out of fear of rejection, or maybe he’s just trying to gauge how much Bucky remembers about his previous life first before he makes his move. Whatever the reason, it’s clearly taking a toll on him to resist the man he’s been bound to since he was just a pup, especially when the hunter’s moon is demanding he does the exact opposite.

Bucky can practically feel the line of tension in Steve's muscles, the way he’s rigidly holding himself still even though they’re back to the safety of the place he calls home. He’s bursting out of his skin with unresolved arousal, evident in the way his cock hangs hard and heavy between his legs, and now that he sees the bigger picture here, Bucky doesn’t want Steve to hold back any longer.

If Steve has been waiting for Bucky for a long as he claims, then Bucky isn’t going to make him hold off a second longer.

“But I’m not his Omega, Steve." Bucky declares, surprising himself with how breathy and debauched he already sounds. He’s looking up at Steve, eyes hooded and a little glassy. Teasingly, he slowly runs the tip of his pink tongue across his bottom lip, watching as Steve tracks the motion subconsciously. Steve’s will to resist is fading fast, and Bucky practically purrs at the thought of Steve taking him apart on the forest floor like some kind of animal.

But that’s exactly what they are when you get down to it: animals that are driven by instinct to fight and fuck, and it might be the moonlight or the hungry way Steve’s looking at him right now, but all Bucky wants to do is bare his throat and submit himself before Steve, give himself over to the urges he's been fighting since he met this man.

And so he does.

"I’m yours. Aren’t I?”

Bucky knows the answer, but he asks Steve anyway, and it must have been the right thing to say because Steve’s eyes darken to an unnatural black as he looms over Bucky, grinning as the wolf within makes itself known again. 

He backs Bucky up until his spine is pressed firmly against the rough bark of a nearby tree. Bucky can smell his arousal; thick and heady in the air around them, and though he doesn’t fully understand why, he wants this. Wants to be Steve’s completely; body and soul.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve growls, and Bucky is abruptly aware of how little space there is between them now. It would be so easy for Steve to just lean down and kiss him, take him by the jaw and taste Bucky’s mouth until he’s panting and needy for more. “Is that what you want, to be mine?”

Bucky bares his throat almost immediately, letting out a sound that could only be classified as a whine when Steve uses his arms to box him in against the tree. Steve shivers as Bucky’s desperate cry wraps around his head like silk. Bucky wasn’t even aware he could make such a noise, but it seems there are quite a few things he doesn’t know about himself just yet.

"Is this what you want?" Steve repeats when Bucky doesn't respond, and his voice is back to that guttural growl Bucky first heard when Steve had him pinned to the ground; deep and commanding in a way that makes Bucky want to bend to his will. "To be bound to me, and I to you? Will you let me claim you, my sweet Omega?"

_ "Please,"  _ He begs, breathless and wanton. The answer is out of Bucky's mouth before he even realizes he's spoken at all, but he means it all the same. "A-alpha,  _ please," _

Steve's grin turns absolutely bestial at that, and from then on, any and all control Steve had over himself is relinquished. He takes Bucky by the jaw, then, squeezing just enough to part Bucky’s lips before he swoops down to claim his mouth. 

But Steve doesn’t exactly kiss Bucky at all. Not initially, at least. It’s all tongue, shallowly licking into Bucky’s mouth just to taste him, and Steve positively growls with delight when their tongues meet for the first time. It’s definitely a little sloppy and uncoordinated at first, driven purely by Steve’s instinct to mark Bucky up with his scent, but Bucky fucking loves how filthy it makes him feel, letting this untamed, disheveled man lick into his mouth and suck on his tongue.

He arches into Steve’s touch, pushing his clothed chest against Steve’s bare skin as his arms come up to wrap around Steve’s neck. Two big hands are suddenly on his waist, slipping down to roughly cup Bucky’s ass as Steve seals their mouths together in a proper kiss that turns heated in an instant.

Bucky whimpers against Steve’s lips when he’s abruptly lifted up and pinned against the rough bark so effortlessly. It sends a shock of arousal racing down his spine, being manhandled like this; his cock quickly fattening up with the promise of sex, straining against the confines of his jeans. Bucky wraps his thick thighs around Steve’s waist and grinds down against him, desperate for friction in a way that almost feels frenzied.

And Steve follows suit, using his bulk to keep Bucky right where he wants him as he moves his hips, giving Bucky just enough stimulation to drive him crazy, but knowing that it won’t be nearly enough to satisfy him.

“Fuck,  _ Steve,” _ Bucky gasps, tilting his head to the side when Steve begins to trail a line of biting kisses down his jawline to the crook of his neck; mouthing at the unmarred space between neck and shoulder where a mating bite would be. “C’mon. You want me, take me. Take anything you need, Alpha,  _ please!” _

He wants it. God, he  _ wants _ it, but Steve doesn’t bite down just yet. He doesn't make a move to bond them together, and Bucky cries out with frustration, bearing his teeth as a growl he didn't even know he was capable of making bursts from his chest.

It stuns him, hearing himself produce such an animalistic sound. Steve, however, merely seems intent on getting Bucky to yowl like that again.

"Yeah, Puppy?” He coos against Bucky’s neck, teasingly nipping at his skin while Bucky squirms in his arms. “You want it that bad, huh? Such a needy boy. Can my sweet Omega get wet for me? Come on, Sweetheart. Let me see how  _ slick _ you can get."

Bucky isn't sure what Steve means at first. He’s vaguely aware that his cock is leaking precome onto the front of his jeans; throbbing and aching from a combination of neglect and desire. But it's then, as Steve’s hands squeeze the cheeks of his ass through the denim of his jeans, that he notices how fucking  _ wet _ he is between his cheeks.

And Steve seems to notice too. He sucks in a sharp breath through gritted teeth, pulling back just enough so he can see the lust-blown black of Bucky's eyes.

Steve's hands wander up his body, sliding under the hem of his flannel to feel the warmth of his skin, and Bucky shivers under his heated gaze, whimpering when the slick dripping down the backs of his thighs begin to dampen the fabric of his jeans.

"You're wearing too much," Steve grumbles, running his hands up Bucky's chest just to scrape his blunt nails over the stiff peaks of Bucky's nipples. 

Steve pulls his hands back all too soon, taking the warmth of his touch with him, but Bucky doesn't get the chance to grieve the loss for long. Steve grips the collar of Bucky flannel and tugs, popping the buttons off his shirt with an audible ' _ snap' _ as he tears it down the middle, baring every delectable inch of Bucky's chest to Steve's greedy mouth and hands.

And he does toy with Bucky for a short while; plucking and sucking on his nipples as he nips around the plump flesh of Bucky's tits, but it's not long before they both become impatient for something more. Something they desperately need.

_ "Oh, s-shit!" _ Bucky pants as he's quickly lowered back down to the ground, bracing his hands against the trunk of the tree when he's spun around to face it. "Please. Oh, please, Steve.  _ Fuck me. _ I need it.  _ Need you." _

"I've got you, Honey," Steve soothes, practically growing out the words next to Bucky's ear, but he can tell that Steve is barely hanging on to any semblance of control he has left over himself. He's trying not to shift, fighting against his body that longs to shed this skin for the one that lies beneath it. 

Bucky tenses as Steve makes quick work of removing his jeans, shredding them with strong fingers and hands as effortlessly as one would tear through tissue paper. And then he's completely bare to Steve, say for the shirt still openly draped across his shoulders, but even that meets a similar fate when Steve presses his chest up against Bucky's back; irritated when instead of feeling his mate's warm, creamy skin against his own, he meets the thick fabric of that fucking flannel.

When nothing else is between them but the night, Steve presses his hips against the swell of Bucky's ass, and without even thinking, Bucky juts his hip out and leans forward, allowing Steve's cock to slide in between his slick cheeks.

And Steve does just that, thrusting his hips shallowly just to take some of the edge off, but frustratingly, he doesn’t try to breach Bucky’s body. Not yet, at least. 

Clearly, Steve has other plans for Bucky. 

Instead, he peppers the long column of his mate's spine with soft kisses, trailing them down slowly as he sinks to his knees behind Bucky.

Bucky has only a few moments to process the feeling of Steve tonguing at the dimples directly above his ass before his cheeks are spread open wide and Steve's face is buried in between them; ravenously lapping up the slick steadily leaking from his hole as if he were a desperate man dying of thirst.

_ "Ungh, Steve–"  _ Bucky moans, hand slipping into Steve’s dirty hair to keep him right where he wants him. The sound of his pleasure echoes around them loudly, as does Steve’s, and it’s the sweetest music Bucky’s ever heard. Steve's tongue is dipping inside of him, tasting him, and it should be downright revolting, considering where Steve’s mouth is. But it’s not. 

It's fucking filthy, no doubt about it, and it makes Bucky's head spin to be able to feel Steve's long tongue press up inside of him; teasing at that spot that makes his toes curl with the not so human parts of Steve's anatomy.

His cock gushes tiny spurts of precome when Steve wiggles his tongue inside of him, slipping in a finger or two to rub at Bucky's prostate while he tongue-fucks his ass in tandem, and it's just too much for him to handle; listening to the wet sounds of Steve’s mouth, sucking and licking, how he growls with pleasure at the taste of Bucky on his tongue. It’s like something out of a fever dream, but Bucky doesn’t ever want it to stop.

Slick is running in rivulets down the backs of his thighs, drenching Steve's bearded jaw in his arousal as he licks him open, and by the time Bucky's taken to begging for Steve's cock, he's so gone on Steve's scent and the warmth of his skin, the feeling of his mouth and tongue, that he can barely string together a coherent sentence at all.

Steve mercifully takes pity on them both, and he rises to his feet again to take position behind Bucky; using the slick on his hands to wet the shaft of his cock.

He lines up, pressing the bulbous head against Bucky's stretched asshole, and pushes in. 

Now, Bucky knows that Steve is both longer and thicker than any partner he's ever had, but his body is somehow relaxed and open enough to let Steve slide right in without meeting much resistance at all. Of course, he's fuller than he's ever been, and he's pretty sure he'll be feeling Steve in his gut long after they finish fucking, but he's also never had dick this good before.

“Oh, my God. S-steve–” He whines, but the sound gets caught in his throat when Steve’s grip on his hips tightens, pulling him back to get his cock even deeper inside him. Bucky can barely breathe, forcing out shallow pants that make him sound as if he were going into heat. And isn’t that a strange thought. One saved for a time when Bucky has the wherewithal to properly process a thing like that, no doubt. 

Steve's cock is boring him out, stretching Bucky wide to make a place for himself inside of his mate. Bucky would think there's something profound and maybe even a little poetic about the idea of Steve making Bucky his home, but for the life of him, he can't seem to think straight when Steve is stuffing his ass full of werewolf dick.

They groan together when Steve finally bottoms out, both reeling from the incredible sensation they can't seem to articulate beyond animalistic grunts and growls.

Steve places his hand on the small of Bucky's back and eases him gently to the ground, settling behind him on his knees once Bucky is properly presenting; face down in the dirt with his ass up in the air.

"God, Bucky," Steve sighs as he begins to move his hips, and he sounds about as wrecked as Bucky feels, hissing at the tight squeeze and intense heat that has his cock trapped in a vice grip. "I've been waiting for this for so long.  _ Fuck, _ you feel incredible."

Bucky can only whimper in response to that, entirely overwhelmed by the euphoria rapidly building up inside of him. His eyes roll back into his skull, nails scoring deep grooves into the dirt as Steve picks up the pace, pounding into him relentlessly. 

Steve has Bucky's cock drooling onto the dirt below him, literally fucking the come out of his body with each powerful thrust he gives, and it's quickly hurling him towards an orgasm Bucky couldn't hold off even if he wanted to.

Steve drapes his hairy chest across Bucky’s sweat-slick back, grunting harshly next to Bucky's ear as he savagely chases after his own release. 

He’s not talking to Bucky any longer, probably can’t even if he tries, and really, Bucky’s no better off than Steve is at this point. His mind is consumed with the fullness in his gut, the stretch and burn around his hole, and the thick cock pistoning inside of him–which, somehow, is only getting  _ thicker. _

_ “A-aah!”  _ Bucky chokes out as the base of Steve’s cock begins to swell, tugging at his overstretched rim with each delicious slide. Words Bucky doesn’t even understand come pouring out of his mouth all at once, spurring Steve on to finally stake his claim on Bucky once and for all. 

“Pl-ease,” he pants, “ _ Alpha _ –breed me. M-make me yours!”

And Steve, to both of their immense relief, does.

His grip on Bucky tightens, and before Bucky even knows what’s happening, Steve is pressing down on his back, viciously fucking him into the dirt. The swelling at the base of his prick has locked them both together, and all Steve can really do to push them both over the edge, at this point, is a filthy grind that has stars exploding behind Bucky’s eyes.

It’s more than enough, Bucky thinks. But the second he feels lips on his neck, pulling back to allow a set of inhuman teeth to nip at his flesh, he fucking loses it.

Steve bites down, hard, puncturing the skin of Bucky’s neck and shoulder, and an explosive wave of pleasure he's never felt before quickly drags him down into its depths. He comes screaming into the muddy earth, shaking and howling like a fucking beast as Steve follows him over the edge.

He's not entirely sure why he does it, or even how he manages to sound so...feral, but it feels right to give in to the urge to do so, to proudly express his elation to anyone who could hear it.

Steve howls right along with him, but his declaration is a warning to others, rather than a proclamation of joy; that Bucky belongs to Steve and Steve alone, and that a swift death would befall anyone that dares to try and take Bucky away.

Warmth floods his insides, coating his walls with Steve’s thick release as he comes, and Bucky purrs with content, sliding his hand down to press against his belly. But that’s not what has him so complacent.

Bucky can feel their bond taking hold, can sense Steve’s emotions, hear his deepest thoughts, see his memories. He closes his eyes, searching Steve’s mind for a very particular memory, and like a film playing behind his eyelids, he sees them as they once were. 

They’re young and playful, only pups trailing after each other as if they were two halves of a whole wolf. And they are. Bucky can feel the love Steve has for him; this tiny white wolf with bright blue eyes and a crooked smile, and Bucky loved Steve just as much.

He remembers Steve, their promised bond, the love and devotion they hold for one another, and he must be saying as much out loud because Steve is purring again; soothing Bucky with little kisses to the bite mark he’d left behind as he sobs.

Steve holds him close, rolling them onto their sides so that he’s not crushing Bucky with his bulk, even though he knows Bucky can take it.

They’re still tied together, and they will be for some time, but Bucky doesn’t care. He doesn’t want this to stop, not when he finally understands how long it’s really been since they were together. 

“Are you alright?” Steve is asking, wrapping Bucky up in a cocoon of heated skin. Bucky nods, despite it all, and although he has questions he’ll eventually want answered, it’s enough, right now, to just let them have this. 

He’s finally home.

“I’ll be okay,” Bucky whispers, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “I just really missed you, Steve.”

“I missed you too, Bucky.” Steve purrs, contented, “My sweet Omega. My mate.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think ♡♡


End file.
